Retribution
by LeiaOrganicSolo
Summary: You have to do this - but not for you. For Conner, for Steph, for your father. /Nightwing #139/ rated T for good ol' fashioned Robin angst.


**Characters: Tim Drake**  
><strong>Pairings: None<strong>  
><strong>Rated: T for good old angst<strong>

**I figured it was about time Timmy got his own 3rd person POV angst fest. Dick and Jason can't have all the fun, you know.**

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><p>Your hands are trembling. You don't think Dick can tell, he's standing behind you near I Ching - at least you hope he can't tell. Regardless, you can see them shaking, samples of DNA in the tongs as your chest is heaving and your head is spinning. (<em>diz·zy. Adjective. <em>diz-zy-ness. impairment in spatial perception and stability.)<em>_

You can hear the thu-thump of your own, erratic heartbeat, each ragged intake of breath that swishes past your lips. Beads of sweat are rolling down your forehead, deterred not even by your domino mask.

But you don't feel it. Your entire body shut down, numb. In denial. In shock. _(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Commonly known as PTSD. A severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. Dangerous if left untreated.)_

It doesn't matter though. You have to do this - but not for you. For Conner, for Steph, for your father. They didn't deserve to die, you did. _(Survivor guilt [sərvī′vər] feelings of guilt for surviving a tragedy in which others died.)_ The image of Kon's body flits before your eyes, broken and battered and pulverized. Your breathing halts for a moment as you recall every gruesome detail, every single one, from the awkward angle his body was bent, to the way his eyes were open, empty, cold. The color blue, not unlike Steph's.

You didn't get to see Stephanie's body, not even after she was cleaned up, but you can imagine it. Blonde hair dirty, fingernails and the corner of her mouth caked in blood. Flowing from the wounds in her side and suddenly she's your father, his big, strong form crumpled on the hardwood floors, blood streaming from his chest as you desperately, frantically rip off your Robin costume. The fabric is ripping but for once in your life you don't even fucking care, you never want to wear the suit again.

You hate it.

You hate the feel of it, the smell of it, everything about it, because- because of you, it, everything -your father is dead and his blood his literally staining your hands and you're suddenly alone, although you always have been and-

You have to save them. You have to bring them- "Stephanie, Dad, Conner," -back to life so you can tell them how sorry you are, how you never ever meant for them to die_ (re-gret _/riˈgret/_ synonyms: deplore - repent - lament - mourn.) _

It wasn't fair. They weren't supposed to die. They weren't supposed to leave you.

Suddenly you're aware that what you thought to be sweat is now tears streaming down your face, and you look towards Dick to see him watching, waiting. You choke on a sob, knowing what's right, and also knowing what you so desperately want, what you need.

An image of Bruce brushes past your mind now, and the tears are falling harder, the sobs are even louder as you wonder what he would say if he saw you right now. You picture his face, a mask of indifference to some, but you can always tell what he's feeling. He'd be angry. Furious even. And disappointed.

That's why, when you tip the vials of DNA over towards the ground the contents fall not in the Lazarus Pit, but the rocky, volcanic ground. You distantly hear Dick call your name and his approaching footsteps, but you're too busy ripping off the mask so your tears can fall freely.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, I'm sorry-"

Dick wraps his arms around you and for once you let go and sink into them, dropping down all the walls and defenses you put up, finally facing the pain and the hurt and the longing head on, bravely, just as Bruce would.

Because you made a choice, one that Bruce would have made too.

_(Free will is the ability to make choices free from certain kinds of constraints. Earliest forms of recognition of free will are that of the Buddha, he once stated that "There is free action, there is retribution.")_

You're still waiting for the retribution, but for now the Bruce in your head that cracks a teeny tiny smile is retribution enough.

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><p><strong>Tim has a very interesting characterization. I experimented a bit with the point of view - what are your opinions on the random facts thrown in? I feel like Tim's the type of person who never stops thinking, even when he's going into a bit of shock.<strong>

**Reviews are most appreciated!**

**~LeiaOrganicSolo**


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